September 12th

We report: the sun is a few degrees above the horizon, melting into the atmosphere. Because it is this low, we are exceptionally able to see its shimmering corona with the naked eye. We realise that we still should probably not be looking at the sun for this long.

September 11th

We report at dawn: the clouds are diaphanous, only just coming into view. The sky looks so thin, like the weakest breeze could knock it all over. Some colours are being brought into the world with utmost care - not too many, not all at once, not too loud, so you can sleep in.

September 10th

We report about drizzle on the river. We watch the smallest beads of water catch on our expert’s flyaways. It is a ghostly sort of morning; we have not come across a single person so far. We passed a cormorant perched on a buoy, and it did not even glance at us.

September 9th

We report: this is more of the raking September light that is so alluring to us. Today, the clouds are also showing proclivities when it comes to geometry; we think that we might find words written in the sky any minute now. It is chilly enough for long sleeves.

September 8th

We report: our expert is too busy catching up on solar weather reports to deign join us for the sunset - it appears that they had missed the news of a minor geomagnetic storm. Down here, even through the highs and lows of atmospheric pressure, the storm clouds pass quietly.

September 7th

We report at nightfall, ahead of the cold front we are expecting in the morning: the wind is rising. The atmospheric pressure is still dropping. The stars are twinkling through the clouds; the humidity is creating halos around them. The few raindrops are flying in the breeze.

September 6th

We report: late in the afternoon, we see a large blanket of clouds sweep across the whole width of the sky. Everywhere we look, it keeps pushing in, getting thicker as it goes. Later on, it starts losing its contours in the dim dusk light, but we know it is still there.

September 5th

We report: the sunflowers have all begun to wilt. They are all looking at the ground. We can see their seeds starting to appear behind the florets. It is September now; even on days when it is hot, the sun is getting lower, which means so should the sunflowers.

September 4th

We report: it is raining a little, sparse few drops here and there. The sunset is keeping low to the horizon under the weight of the clouds. Walking home, the street lamps haphazardly turn on, unpredictable. The telltale, dry crackle when they turn on makes us look up.

September 3rd

We report: of course, we see the moon on a night when we were not expecting it, cloudy as the day was. It is also at a time when we are practically falling asleep on our feet. We do stay for a few minutes to watch the clouds wrap the moon in mother-of-pearl, again and again.

September 2nd

We report: on the beach, we come across squall after squall. We see them coming from afar, the blur of rain on the slate grey ocean. The rain is only half the genuine thing, and the other half is sea spray; facing the wind as we walk, we keep accidentally inhaling it.

September 1st

We report early, but especially bright, in the morning: we had to take a minute to get used to the sun when we went outside. When we went back in, we had to take another minute. Each cloud felt as bright as the sun, and looking up was already enough for our eyes to get full.

August 31st

We report: gorse and heather are in full bloom now, and the hills smell like honey. Also, because it rained so much in the previous week, we can make out some brand new autumn smells. They are an odd, but familiar mix of rotting wood, damp chalk, and crisp nights.

August 30th

We report: we lost the moonrise in the clouds tonight, and our expert seemed a little dejected about it. For this reason, we are now waiting for a hypothetical moment when the moon might still appear; though we are aware there is rain on the radar in the next half hour.

August 29th

We report: there is a traffic jam currently occurring in the sky, certainly due to clouds of different shapes and sizes moving on different levels, at different speeds. There has been some crumpling and tearing in consequence, and now the sun is falling on top of the pile.

August 28th

We report: late afternoon, the sun is disappearing behind the cliffs. On the coast trail, in the shade of the trees, the path ahead is already a little too dark. There is a lot of humidity here, rising from the ocean, but also from a thin stream winding among horsetail.

August 27th

We report: it has rained most days this week, and we still get surprised whenever it happens - and then, later on again, when it goes on for more than a handful of minutes. The air is brisk at sunset, raindrops are catching on our shins when we walk on the grass.

August 26th

We report: it got dark faster than we had anticipated, inky cobalt turning into black in a few blinks. Later on, when not a hint of blue remains in the sky, we hear thunder. It comes and goes for hours, a continuous stream of storm cells. We fall asleep before it stops.

August 25th

We report: this is one of these skies that look like someone took a fine-tooth comb to them, and also had to give up on untangling them at some point. There is a clear motion to the clouds, but we cannot make sense of it. Looking out to the west, the clouds are moving the other way.

August 24th

We report: there is all this convection lately, and we saw the atmospheric pressure drop below 1010 hectopascals for the first time in many months. We have heard of thunderstorms, even tornadoes in other places. Here, we see short, unannounced showers, and timid drizzle at night.